


Let it Snow

by kinneyb



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Eliot needs a fake boyfriend for over the holidays. Insert: Quentin Coldwater.
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Let it Snow

"You don't _have_ to go, you know," Margo says, looking over Eliot's shoulder at the invitation. "You could always spend Christmas with your favorite girl," she adds, setting her chin on his shoulder.

Eliot sighs. "I won't hear the end of it if I skip. Again."

"Your family sucks, though," she says without missing a beat, honest as ever.

That's why Eliot loved her. He turns and kisses her cheek. "I know, Bambi, that's why I'd rather just satisfy their curiosities and not have to deal with it for another year."

"Hey," she says, squinting. "What's that- " she points at the bottom of the invitation.

Eliot glances down and sees there's an arrow pointing to the other side. Furrowing his eyebrows, he turns the card over.

_Bring a date ;)_ signed his aunt.

"God," he groans. "I fucking hate the holidays."

Margo laughs softly and kisses his shoulder. "I could be your date," she offers.

"That's- " Eliot cuts himself off, pressing his lips together. 

Recently, his relatives have been pushing him more and more to bring dates, always using female pronouns as if they don't know.

To be fair, Eliot never told most of them, just his father and there's no shock that his father kept the information tucked away from the rest of the family.

Embarrassed and ashamed, probably.

Taking a deep breath, he confesses, "I think I've just discovered a way to never be invited to family events again."

Margo pulls her chin off his shoulder and scurries around to stand in front of him. "Spill," she says, eyes sparkling. "I'll help however I can."

"I should bring a date," he says, squaring his shoulders. "A _real_ one."

Well, real is subjective- he has no guys on the back burner right now, but the point stands. 

"Oh my God," she breathes. "Are you sure? I mean, good riddance, but." She grabs his hands and squeezes. "I know your father isn't exactly a decent human being."

Eliot laughs dryly and leans down, kissing the top of her head. "That's an understatement," he straightens back up. "He'll probably have a cow if I show up with a guy."

"Good," Margo says confidently. "Did you have a guy in mind?"

Eliot shrugs. "Not really; most of them have coupled up for the holidays." He pulls a face. "Or already have plans."

Margo pulls a similar face. "Gross," she remarks. "Okay, I'll find someone, then."

"Bambi," he says. "If you show up with Josh from- "

"Have some faith!" she exclaims, smacking his chest. "I would never. I have enough standards for the both of us," she says. "Just give me, like, a day, okay?"

+

Margo bursts into the cottage two days later while Eliot is sitting on the couch, nursing a drink. "Mama is late," she admits, "but I've accomplished our goal."

The corners of Eliot's mouth quirks up as he takes another sip. "Did you?" he asks, unable to hide his curiosity.

She steps out of the way and gestures wildly. "Come here," she hisses impatiently.

Eliot watches with mild interest as someone else stumbles into the cottage, a short little thing of a man. He raises an eyebrow and glances at Margo. "Bambi," he says, amused, "who did you kidnap?"

Huffing, Margo puts her hands on her hips. "He consented, thank you very much."

"Yes, of course," he replies, smirking. His eyes flicker back to the stranger; he's fairly short with long hair and a surprisingly strong jaw that's currently clenched. "He looks a little... nervous, Bambi."

Margo rolls her eyes and nudges the guy. "Tell him I did not kidnap you, Quentin."

Eliot hums and watches as the guy looks up, squaring his shoulders. He's- cute, in a puppy way, long hair falling in his eyes. 

"I- she told me everything and- and I said I'd help."

Eliot tilts his head. "So, you have no qualms about pretending to be my date?"

"Um." Quentin has a bag thrown over his shoulder and right now he's clenching the strap so tight Eliot thinks it must hurt. "Uh, obviously. Or- or I wouldn't be... here," he finishes lamely.

Margo beams and pats his head. "Good boy," she praises.

Quentin grimaces but doesn't pull away.

"And you're well aware that you'd have to spend Christmas with my family and I?" Eliot asks, raising a dark eyebrow. "What- don't have any plans of your own?"

Quentin's face falls and Eliot immediately tenses, sensing the incoming-

"I- I don't really have any plans for Christmas," he mutters. "Um. My mom, she- well, she's basically disowned me. My dad is... he passed away earlier this year."

"Shit," Margo mutters under her breath.

Eliot looks at her, unimpressed. "You didn't ask him before?"

She shrugs sharply and points a finger at him. "I'm helping you, dickwad. Be grateful."

Quentin smiles, a little awkwardly, and shakes his head. "It's- it's fine. I- I think it'd be good for me. To have a distraction," he admits.

"Okay," Eliot agrees. 

+

"We'll leave on Wednesday if that sounds good?"

Quentin nods, taking a sip of the drink Eliot had made him earlier. 

"Before then, uh- " Eliot clears his throat. "Margo brought up a good point: if we want to pull this off, we should probably get to know a little more about each other."

Quentin startles and nearly spills his drink. Leaning over, he sets his glass on the coffee table and sits back. "Okay," he breathes. "What- what do you wanna know?"

"Before that, we need to work on- " Eliot reaches out for Quentin's hand and he startles again - "that."

Quentin flushes and smooths his hands over his jeans. "Um. Sorry. I'm- not used to- yeah."

"Right," Eliot says. "Well, we can start with that. Have you not been with a lot of people?"

Quentin laughs dryly. "You could say that," he mutters. "More like... never."

"That's surprising," he replies breezily and Quentin looks up at him with wide eyes. "I just mean, you're not exactly hard on the eyes, little Q."

Quentin blinks once. "Little Q?" he sputters, cheeks growing hot. 

"Sorry, sorry," Eliot says, but he's obviously not sorry at all, smirking as he reaches over and pats Quentin's leg. "Just trying things out. Thought nicknames would make the whole thing more convincing, yes?"

He nods dumbly. "Um, yeah, probably. My- uh, my best friend calls me Q. Just Q."

"Mmm," Eliot leans back. "And who is your best friend?"

Quentin smiles, warm and fond. "Her name is Julia. She's- she's honestly nothing like me. She's popular and, like, stupidly pretty." 

"Now, now," Eliot chides softly. "Self-deprecation is only amusing for so long."

Quentin flushes and ducks his head. "Sorry, it's not- " 

"Wait," Eliot says, cutting him off. "Julia? As in Julia Wicker?"

Quentin perks up. "Um, yeah, the only and one," he says with a sheepish laugh.

"Amazing," he breathes. "Just a few weeks in and she was the talk of the campus- you left off she's got beauty and brains."

Quentin laughs again. "Yeah, sorry about that. She started tutoring other students after just a week of admission."

"Beauty and brains- Margo will be angry someone is stealing her thunder."

Quentin bites the inside of his cheek, suppressing a grin. "Margo is a force of her own."

"Ohh," Eliot says, light and teasing. "I'll tell her that- " Quentin flushes and starts sputtering, but Eliot gently concedes "- I'm joking, Quentin."

He nods slowly. "Okay. Good. She's scary."

Eliot barks out a laugh. "Oh, I'll have to tell her that." Quentin frowns and he pats his arm. "She adores being feared, little Q."

Quentin cracks a tiny smile and looks away. "Yeah, okay, whatever."

Satisfied that Quentin no longer looks like he'll be scared away so easily, Eliot hums and leans back, getting more comfortable. He notices when Quentin glances at him, curiously, but he doesn't push.

"What about you?" he blurts.

Eliot raises an eyebrow and waits.

"Um. You- I mean, obviously, but you have a lot of experience with- with dating?"

Eliot rolls his eyes. "Dating," he repeats with a dry laugh. "Not exactly, no." Quentin looks surprised for a total of two seconds before Eliot continues, "I've been with a lot of people, darling, but never for long."

Quentin blinks. Once, twice. "Oh," he breathes, blushing. "Okay."

"Is that- " Eliot raises both eyebrows and sniffs the air "- judgment I smell in the air?"

Quentin firmly shakes his head. "No, no, just. I don't know; I don't think I could do it."

"Good thing you're not me," Eliot replies a bit dryly. Then, "enough about that; what do you do for fun?"

Quentin ducks his head and shyly peers at Eliot from under his eyelashes. "Um," he says, picking at a loose thread hanging from his shirt. "I read, like, a lot."

"Okay," Eliot says, unimpressed. 

Quentin nods. "Have you ever heard of Fillory and Further?" he blurts.

"Oh, not another one," Eliot sighs dramatically. 

Quentin stiffens. "Um, what?" he squeaks.

He waves him off. "Margo is also obsessed with those stupid books."  
"S- stupid?" 

Eliot turns his head and startles when he sees Quentin's expression; pinched, eyebrows drawn together, frowning. "Hey," he says quickly. "I'm just fucking with you. Don't look so upset, little Q."

"Well, sorry," he says, still frowning. "Those books just- they meant a lot to me, okay?"

Eliot can read the sincerity in his eyes and softens. "Sorry," he mumbles. "I get it," he snatches Quentin's drink from off the table and takes a gulp, sighing, "we all have our own coping mechanisms."

Quentin relaxes a little. "Hey, I didn't say you could have any."

"I made it," Eliot remarks with a smirk. "I don't need to ask."

+

Quentin comes back in the morning and spends the day with Eliot again. They talk about themselves, which is not one of Quentin's favorite topics but Eliot is nice enough, especially after that first day.

"Is- is Margo going to be alone over Christmas?" he asks after a few hours.

Eliot glances over at him and can't help softening at the sympathetic look on his face, so genuine. "She has ways of entertaining herself, little Q," he says.

"Like what?" he asks, innocent as ever.

He would be death of him, really. Eliot smirks. "She'll probably go into the city and find a hot guy or girl or both and spend the day fucking like rab- "

Quentin flushes and puts a hand in the air. "Okay, okay, got it," he sputters.

Eliot grins like a shark. "We need more alcohol," he says, standing up and going to the bar. He prepares them both something light and fruity and returns. "Here."

"Thanks," Quentin says, taking it. "Um. So, I feel like. Um. We're avoiding something."

Eliot raises an eyebrow as he sits back down, lounging over half of the couch, his feet pressing against the side of Quentin's thigh. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

"Well, like, I don't know," Quentin says with a sharp little shrug. "What am I in for?"

Eliot tilts his head. "I told you; we don't have to do anything you don't want to. Preferably a kiss on the cheek or two would be nice, at least."

"No, no," Quentin replies but he's flushed again and Eliot admittedly thinks it's a good look on him. "I mean, tell me about your family."

Eliot lets out a deep sigh and looks away. "Oh, that." He stares at a spot on the wall; looks like a scorch mark from one of the rowdy first years. "You'll love them," he says.

Quentin visibly perks up. "Really?"

"No," Eliot says dryly.

Quentin tenses. "Oh," he breathes. Then, a little lighter, "well, no one has a perfect family life."

"Yes, of course," he replies with another sigh, nudging Quentin with his foot. "I should warn you: they are... especially bad," he says. "If you want out, I understand. No one deserves their shit, not even me."

Quentin hums softly. "Why don't you... just skip?"

"I- " Eliot purses his lips. "It's not so easy, little Q," he mutters. 

Quentin nods. "I understand," he says, impossibly soft. Almost like he truly understood, like he could maybe see through Eliot just a little bit.

"So," he says, clearing his throat. TIme for a new subject. "Should we practice a bit?"

Quentin blinks, looking at him with owlish eyes. "What do you mean?"

Eliot suppresses a smirk and nudges him again. "If I kiss you in the middle of my family and you cringe away... might look not only fake, but mildly concerning."

"Oh, uh." Quentin says, nodding quickly. "That- that makes sense."

Eliot hums and sits up, letting his feet fall from the couch. "Only on the cheek," he promises. "And only if you're really okay with it."

Quentin peeks at him from under his shield of hair. It's oddly endearing, he thinks, but also can't help thinking he'd look even better if he pulled it back. "Okay," he says. "I'm- yeah. I mean, even Jules kisses me on the cheek."

"Perfect," Eliot says softly. "Ready?"

Quentin takes a gulp of his drink. Eliot smirks. "Ready," he confirms.

He leans forward slowly, giving Quentin an out if he needs or wants it. When he doesn't say or do anything, Eliot hums and presses a soft kiss to the side of Quentin's face. Quentin is stiff at first but quickly softens, shoulders slumping.

Eliot pulls back after a couple seconds and pats his shoulder. "Perfect," he repeats. 

Quentin's eyes flicker up to his face. "Sh- should I?"

"Hmm?" Eliot raises a dark eyebrow. 

Quentin flushes and shrugs. "Um, I mean, like," he stammers, gesturing wildly.

"Ah," Eliot says after a moment, slowly understanding. He smirks. "It'll probably help sell the story, but we'll be okay if you'd rather not."

Quentin scoots closer. "I'm- I'm okay with it," he says quickly. "It's just on the cheek."

"Brave little toaster," Eliot teases, biting back a grin.

Quentin glares at him, but it's too soft around the edges to be concerning. Leaning forward, he kisses Eliot's cheek, brief and so, so sweet.

"There," Quentin says. 

Eliot reaches out and ruffles his hair. "There," he agrees. 

+

"Come on, boys," Margo announces, clapping her hands together. "Get up and get ready."

Eliot looks up from his spot on the couch. Quentin is sitting beside him, reading a book.

"For what?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.

Margo grins and slaps her hands on her hips. "Shopping, duh," she says.

"I- I really don't like shopping," Quentin mutters, not even looking up from his book.

Margo sighs dramatically and leans forward and down, snatching his book from him. Quentin gasps and looks up with a pout. Eliot stifles a laugh.

"You are going to be my Eliot's date for a weekend," she says, pointing the book in front of his face, "and I will not let you embarrass him with whatever is going on here," she says, gesturing at his outfit.

Quentin pouts still. "What's wrong with my clothes?" he asks, looking at Eliot.

Eliot bites the inside of his cheek. "Um. Nothing, little Q," he assures him, patting his leg.

"Don't be nice," she remarks. "You look like a construction worker on his day off, Q."

Quentin blinks. "What the fuck does that mean?" he asks.

"Come on, up, up," Margo says, tossing the book on the table. "It's Christmas week; the city is sure to be busy."

A couple hours later, Quentin collapses on the couch. "I hate shopping," he grumbles.

Eliot grins and eyes him. "You do look better, though."

Margo was a queen at fashion, like always. Quentin looked especially good in his new jeans, a darker, tighter fit, and an olive green t-shirt that was also tighter than his usual shirts but still loose enough Quentin didn't look insanely uncomfortable. 

He reaches out and fingers the silk pocket on the front of the shirt. "I love this, especially," he teases.

Quentin knocks his hand away. "Finally regretting this," he says.

Eliot can hear the joking, teasing, tone in his voice, but the words still leave him with a nasty feeling. He sits up a little straighter. "You don't have to do this, you know," he says. "If you want out at any point, just let me know."

Quentin blinks at him. "It's okay, Eliot," he says. "I know. I- I might be shy and shit, but I wouldn't do this if I really didn't want to."

"Okay," Eliot says, feeling better. "Good. Oh, by the way," he nudges him. "Call me El."

Quentin nods, smiling a little. 

+  
"Eliot," Margo says the night before they depart. "I- can I ask something?"

He scoots over and pats the couch. "Always," he answers breezily. He always makes time for his favorite person in the world; she should know that by now.

Walking over, she sits down and takes a deep breath. "Q isn't here, I'm guessing?"

"Hmm?" Eliot raises an eyebrow and glances around, almost like he's expecting him to be there anyway despite the text he got from him earlier. "No, he needed to pack and stuff."

Margo nods and that's when Eliot notices for the first time that she looks nervous.

He sits up a little straighter. "Bambi, darling, what is it?" he asks, wrapping a firm arm around her shoulders. 

She sighs heavily and leans her head on his shoulder. "El, I think- " she pauses and collects herself for a moment. "I think you're developing real feelings for him," she says finally, barely above a whisper.

Eliot rubs her arm gently. "What are you talking about?" he asks, but he's grown stiffer.

Margo peers up at him with her wide, dark eyes. "You know what I'm talking about," she says, not unkindly. "This was just- El, wasn't this just supposed to be a stupid ploy to piss off your family?"

"It was," he says. "It is," he adds. "What makes you think it isn't?"

She looks away and shrugs. "I see the way you look at him, El. I'm not an idiot."

Eliot sighs and kisses the top of her head. "Don't be silly, Margo. I think he's swell and all, but you know me- I don't do relationships."

"But why not?" she asks, surprising him.

He squints at her. "Weren't you just angry at the prospect of me having feelings for him?"

Margo purses her lips. "I'm layered," she says. "Like an onion."

Eliot laughs and runs his fingers through her soft curls. "Yes, of course, my bad."

For a few minutes they're silent. Finally, Margo says, "I just want you to be happy."

"Bambi," he sighs. 

She turns and peers up at him, placing a hand on his chest. "This is very hard for me to admit, but, yes, I get kind of jealous at the idea of sharing you," she pats his chest softly, "I mean, it's been just us for so long."

Reaching up, he takes her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb, catching briefly on one of her rings.

"But, more than anything, and as fucking cheesy as this sounds, I want you to be happy, El," she leans forward and kisses his jaw. "Just- promise me you'll give it a try."

Eliot smirks. "What? Being happy?"  
Margo pulls back with an oddly serious look on her face. "Yes," she says firmly.

"Oh, darling," he sighs and pulls her forward, closer, into a soft hug. "I love you."

She hums. "You should, considering I'm the best friend a person could ask for."

Eliot laughs and rubs her back lightly. "You are," he confirms without missing a beat.

"Now," Margo clears her throat and pulls back, and if Eliot didn't know better he'd think her eyes looked a little wet. "We should have a party."

He blinks. "Margo," he cups her face, "the campus is deserted."

She shrugs. "So what?" she asks, jumping up. "All we need is you, me- "

"And Quentin?" he interjects.

Margo peers down at him and bites her lip. "Yeah," she says. "And Quentin."

Eliot nods, smirking a bit. "Okay, when? Tonight?"

"Unless you have plans," she says, leaning down and poking him in the chest.

"Never," he says, standing up and adjusting his vest. "I'll go tell Quentin, then."

Margo beams and hugs him again, pulling back with a toothy grin. "This will be the best three person party ever," she says, and he believes her.

+

Except when Eliot returns with Quentin it's not just a three person party. But four. A blond woman is standing in the living area of the cottage, idly shifting through the books on one of their shelves.

"Hello?" Eliot asks, raising a dark eyebrow.

She startles and turns around. "Um. Hi. You must be Eliot and, uh- Quentin."

"Yes, indeed," Eliot says, walking further into the cottage and shutting the door without lifting a finger. Magic could be so convenient. "And you are?"

The woman clears her throat awkwardly and tucks some hair behind her ears. "I'm- I'm Alice; Margo found me in the library and, uh... pulled me here. Like, literally." Her nose scrunches up. "She's very strong."

"Wait," Quentin says. "You're Alice Quinn. We're in a few classes together."

Eliot glances between the pair curiously. "Alice... Quinn," he repeats slowly. "The genius," he says, snapping his fingers. "Right."

Alice presses her lips together and squares her shoulders. "Go ahead," she snaps. 

"Ohh, smart and snappy," Eliot says with an amused smirk. "Now, dear," he continues, walking a bit closer, "what are you talking about?"

She rolls her eyes and folds her arms over her chest. "Your kind always makes fun of me. Frankly, it's a little old," she remarks.

Eliot raises both eyebrows. "My kind?" he asks.

"Popular," Alice says dryly. 

He shuffles even closer and wraps an arm around Alice, a light, friendly touch. "Now, now," he says. "Do not put me in the same category as the little boys from your high school, dear Quinn," he says. "Unlike them, I respect your grind."

Alice cuts his eyes at him, untrusting and cold. "Really?" 

"Mhmm," he confirms, squeezing her shoulder once before letting go. "The whole proper student with perfect grades is not for me, but a grind is a grind," he winks. "I respect it."

She visibly relaxes a bit, shoulders drooping. "Okay. Um. Thanks?"

He winks again and walks back over to join Quentin. "So, where is the lady of the hour?"

As if on cue, Margo appears at the top of the stairs in a beautiful red, sparkly dress. "Was I called upon?" she asks, descending them.

Eliot walks over and wraps an arm around her once she reaches the bottom of the stairs. "We were just making friends with Alice," he says.

"Oh, you met her," Margo says. "She's cute, right?"

Alice bristles, cheeks dusted pink. "She is standing right in front of you," she mutters.

Quentin catches her eye and shakes his head. Been there, done that.

"It's a compliment, Quinn," Margo says, pulling away from Eliot and walking over to her. "Take it, okay?"

Alice stares at her for a moment before sighing. "Fine," she grumbles. "What am I even doing here, though? No- no offense, but I don't even really know you guys."

"Well, now you will," Margo remarks, leaning into her. "I know this is probably your first party, but- "

Eliot laughs lightly. "Be nice, Bambi," he chides softly.

She rolls her eyes. "Right, well," she steps away from Alice and claps her hand and music starts playing. "The party is officially commencing. Have fun, losers."

Eliot spends most of the night with Margo only because he feels kind of bad about leaving her soon. He catches Alice and Quentin chattering, presumably over something nerdy and entirely boring. He rolls his eyes fondly and takes a sip of his drink, welcoming the familiar burn in the back of his throat.

"So, did you really find her at the library?" he asks.

Margo sighs and tilts her head, peering at Alice almost sympathetically. "Have you heard about her, El?" she asks quietly.

Eliot hums thoughtfully and takes another slow sip. "No? I mean, she's apparently some kind of genius, but- "

"Her brother died here," Margo says, cutting him off. "Apparently, from whispers around the campus, she doesn't have a good relationship with her parents because of it."

Eliot nods. "Explains why she's staying at school for Christmas, then," he says.

"I know me being sympathetic is, like, against my principles, but. I felt kinda bad." Margo elbows him in the side. "Don't tell anybody, okay?"

Eliot winks. "Never. Your secret of being a good person is safe with me," he promises. Then, "at least you won't be by yourself over Christmas."

Margo bites her bottom lip and waggles her eyebrows. "She is kinda hot, huh?"

He barks out a laugh. "She definitely has big- " he cuts himself off just as Quentin approaches them. "Little Q," he greets with a grin. "Want a drink?"

"Yes, please," he says. "Uh- two, actually."

Eliot nods and turns away, preparing them. Margo watches Quentin, a little too closely.

"What?" he asks. "Do I have something on my face?"

Margo smirks. "You are such a sweet little puppy, Q," she coos, ruffling his hair. "Always so welcoming."

Quentin pulls away and rolls his eyes, accepting the drinks Eliot hands him a second later. "Thank you, El," he whispers before turning away and rejoining Alice on the couch.

"Kind of similar, don't you think?" Margo hums, watching them. "Nerdy, but weirdly endearing. Cute and totally unaware of it."

Eliot sobers up a bit and nudges her. "Will you be okay? Really?"

Margo looks up at him and smiles, just a hint. "I should be the one asking you that."

"Fair enough," he concedes. "To- " he raises his glass in the air and stops. "Uh."

Margo grins and raises her own glass with a flourish. "To having fun and terrible families," she says.

Apparently even Quentin and Alice, the nerds, hear them from over on the couch because they also lift their drinks into the air. Alice obviously doesn't handle her alcohol well because she's swaying.

Eliot smiles, soft and fond, and clinks his glass against Margo's. 


End file.
